


You Are My Sunshine

by Lemonpoundcake



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Blood and Gore, Daddy Issues, F/F, I Don't Even Know, I'm Bad At Tagging, I'm Sorry, It's fundy, Mild Gore, Not Canon Compliant, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Panic Attacks, Trans Male Character, Trauma, Underage Drinking, not even close, there's a lot of blood
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-06
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-17 20:14:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29231367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lemonpoundcake/pseuds/Lemonpoundcake
Summary: “If I sing our song will you sit still so I can finish this?” her mother asked sweetly.“You are my sunshine”“My only sunshine”“You make me happy, when skies are grey”“You’ll never know dear, how much I love you”“So please don’t take my sunshine away”Except they do, and grey skies seem to last forever.
Relationships: Cara | CaptainPuffy & Niki | Nihachu
Comments: 2
Kudos: 14





	1. You Are My Sunshine

Floris sat at the feet of her mother, long orange hair falling over her back as her mother brushed it. She wore a short flowery dress with yellow polka dots, and the breeze through the open French doors tickled the fur on her arms. She gazed around the room, admiring all the trinkets that her parents had collected in their lives, looking most of all at the crossbow mounted on the wall. It was her father’s, and a small brass plate under the mount read “Chekhov's Gun” in bold letters. She had often taken to staring at it when she was in the living room, the gleaming iron on the crossbows firing mechanism overtook her with a sense of admiration. Her father, Wilbur, had only ever used it once, firing it to commemorate the founding of their nation. L’manburg, Floris thought fondly, the nation she was born in. 

She snapped back into reality, her mother humming the familiar tune of their national anthem, one her father had written. Floris squirmed, sitting this long was challenging, and she was quickly getting bored. Her mother, Sally, placed one hand on her shoulder and put the brush on the wooden floor. Floris turned around to look at her, twisting her head around as Sally was reaching for the ribbons that were laying neatly on the floor. Her mother sighed and turned back to Floris. “If I sing our song will you sit still so I can finish this?” her mother asked sweetly, words like the honey from his uncle Tubbo’s bee farm. Floris nodded eagerly and whipped around to face straight. Sally gathered a length of hair in her hand and delicately wrapped a blue ribbon around it.

_ “You are my sunshine”  _ Floris closed her eyes, imagining a cool night sky where she could run for the stars while her parents looked on in wistful joy. 

_ “My only sunshine”  _ She saw a long grassy field at noon, where she could read her books as a gentle noon sun beamed down with rays that were not too hot, and tanned Floris' skin to a dainty color.

_ “You make me happy, when skies are grey”  _ Floris furrowed her brow and imagined a stormy day where she would cuddle up to her mother, and they would read books, and sing songs, and play little games of Floris' own design. 

_ “You’ll never know dear, how much I love you”  _ Now there was a dull grey building, filled with steam and soot, and floors covered in redstone and tiny inventions. Floris' brow relaxed and she smiled, thinking about having her own workshop where she didn’t have to clean her floor, and she could work late into the night if she wanted to. 

_ “So please don’t take my sunshine away”  _ As her mother finished the last note, Floris opened her eyes and squinted as the harsh light filtered through the shades over their windows. Her mother wrapped the last ribbon in her hair, leaning over and kissing Floris gently on the head. She stood, holding her hand for Floris to grab, and they walked out into the garden. Sally’s silk kimono shone in the sunlight, small patches of dull greens, greys, and coral pink reflecting onto Floris' smiling face. Her mother produced a small basket from her kimono and placed it on the ground under the tree in their backyard. Floris took a small wooden sign from the basket and planted it solidly in the ground. A few weeks ago, Floris had made a sign with her woodburning kit. In scrawled handwriting read “L’mantree” and Floris was proud of it. She had insisted they have a “ceremony” to place it in the ground, her mother suggesting a picnic. Floris sighed, feeling a slight damper in the day, as her father was nowhere to be seen. She sat dejectedly on the blanket her mother had rolled out, a blue and white checker pattern. She didn’t hear as soft footsteps crept up behind her, slowly extending their arms to cover her eyes. Floris jumped, the figure laughed as they undid their hands. Her father stood behind her, and she leapt into his arms, both giggling. Her father shifted her to his hip, showing her the bundle he held in his hands. It was a bundle of wooden stakes, wrapped in wool and bound in twine. 

“I thought you weren’t gonna come!” Floris said, hoping down out of Wilbur’s hands. 

“I would never miss my girl’s special achievement! A father always remembers his daughter’s first commemorative tree!” he said, booping Floris on the nose. Floris scrunched up her nose and giggled again. “I’m serious!” He said, lowering himself to sit on the blanket next to Sally. “Today a tree, tomorrow a revolution! You might follow in your old man’s footsteps.” He said, receiving a glance from Sally that was definitely acidic, but Floris was too young to notice. She held up the bundle and examined it. “It’s a fence!” Wilbur said, undoing the twine that held it together, and peeling back the wool to reveal small birch fences that came up to around Floris' mid-thigh. “To protect your tree.” Floris tilted her head at it, moving the small posts over and over in her hands. Wilbur gently took them and moved on his knees over to the base of the tree. He stood, leaning over to align the fence, and then stamping on it, driving it into the ground. He did this 8 times, before standing back to admire his work. There was now a small fence surrounding the tree, as well as Floris' small sign that stood proud in front. They all smiled, and Sally reached once again into the basket, handing sandwiches off to Floris and Wilbur. They munched quietly, lazing in the warm sun. As Floris finished her sandwich, she noticed a butterfly flitting about in her mother’s garden, standing quickly and chasing after it. Both her parents laughed and they enjoyed the pleasant quiet of their domestic life. 

As the sun started to slip beneath the horizon, and the lightning bugs started to float gently in the summer breeze, Floris' eyelids started to grow heavy, and her excited sprint turned to a lazy meander, as the warmth started to seep from her skin and back into the air around her. Sally got up, dusting off her kimono before making her way over to Floris, picking her up and carrying her inside. Sally climbed the stairs, taking the second door to the left, and placed Floris in her bed. Gently undoing the ribbons in her hair, being careful as to not wake the sleeping child. Ribbons undone and dress removed, Sally wiggled Floris into a silk nightgown and laid her on the bed, covering her with the soft cotton sheet. A breeze from the open window spun the dream catcher hanging above the twin bed, the glass feather casting moonbeams around the small room. Sally stood from where she had been on the bed, the frame creaking slightly.

“Mamma wait,” Floris said softly from the bed. Sally sat back down and started to stroke Floris' soft hair and hummed a familiar tune. 

_ “You are my sunshine, my only sunshine. You make me happy, when skies are grey. You’ll never know dear, how much I love you, so please don’t take my sunshine away.”  _ Sally sang softly, leaning down to kiss a sleeping Floris on the head. 

As much as Sally wished what Wilbur had said was just a joke, she also knew that there was fighting blood in the family. She hoped that her daughter wouldn’t fall victim to this, images of Floris bleeding out on the battlefield, her hair dark with her blood and matted to her scalp. Sally shook her head. They were safe in L’Manburg. Away from all the chaos and bloodshed that lay outside of the walls that Wilbur had built to protect them. She quietly stood from the bed, and crossed the floor to the door, standing in the doorframe a moment to linger in the peace and calm of her daughter’s room, before quietly shutting it. 


	2. My Only Sunshine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Forecast: Grey skies and unhinged weather

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LOTS of blood and gore near the end of the chapter. Mentions of alcohol and some rough handling of peoples, as well as a panic attack. You have been warned.

Twice. 

His Father had shot Chekhov's Gun twice. 

Once to commemorate the birth of L’Manburg.

And once to kill the night-stalker that had ruined his life. 

And once, Fundy had shot it. 

It had been a clear summer night, the kind people would typically be out for picnics and barbeques in the warm night air of the summer. The stars were shining brightly, as was the full moon, casting a warm glow across the rippling oceans of grass below it. Fundy stood outside, feeling the soft breeze blow through his newly short hair that he had cut in the mirror. It was lopsided and entirely uneven, but he liked it, and that was all that mattered. He closed his eyes and listened to the babbling stream that ran close to their backyard, hearing quiet laughter from it, he smiled, assuming there were small children playing in the nearby stream. He ran his fingers through his wiry orange hair, fingers catching on knots and he gently pulled them through. He tightened his cap, pulling it further down over his head to try and hide the hack job. He didn’t have to do it by himself in the bathroom mirror, of course, his parents were nothing if not supportive, but he had wanted to take the initiative, as opposed to chickening out about having his mother cut it again. There was a close-by snap of someone stepping on a branch, and Fundy’s eyes whipped open. His heart pounded in his ears as he peered into the oncoming darkness, but could only vaguely make out a figure. The footstep came closer and Fundy looked harder, now making out a dull gleam of a velvet suit against the torches hung on the porch. 

“Who’s there?” he called out, taking a cautionary step into the darkness. Then, in one swift motion, the figure grabbed him and shoved him to the ground, trapping him in a prone position and trapping him on the grass. He struggled and squirmed, but the figure holding him was strong. 

“Go ahead” Started the figure, voice decidedly masculine. He stunk of alcohol and nicotine. “Call for your mommy.” he said with a large toothy grin, the moon beans glinting off of shining white teeth that looked sharp enough to be fangs, the sight of which paralyzed Fundy, who was staring wide-eyed at the man. The figure paused a moment more, leaning next to Fundy’s ear and adding _“Floris”_ The mention of his birth name made his skin crawl. Very few people were privy to that information. The fact that Fundy was uncomfortable only served to widen the bulkier man’s smile. He moved his hand to Fundy’s throat after Fundy‘s hesitation, hand pressing against Fundy’s neck and crushing his windpipe. “Go on.” the man said. Fundy tried to get a better look at the man, but most of his features were shaded by the fast approaching midnight, and the moon seemed to avoid him entirely. The hand on Fundy’s throat tightened, and he coughed. 

“Mom!” he said in a strained voice, the hand on his throat limiting his volume. The man tsked. 

“Louder please, it seems she hasn’t heard you.” Fundy let our a strangled noise, motioning weakly to the man’s hand pressing down on his airway. The edges of his vision were starting to burn. The man clenched his teeth and moved his hands to hold Fundy down by the wrists to the grass again. Fundy gasped for air, collecting himself before screaming as loud as he could. 

“MOM!” his cheeks burned with embarrassment, despite the fact that he was literally in a life-or-death scenario. He heard rapid shuffling and a pounding of feet as his mother rushed outside, swinging open the french door with such a ferocity that it banged against the side of the house. She was wearing a beautiful silver silk dress, making the fancy number casual somehow. 

Sally’s hand came to her mouth, stifling a gasp. “Who- What-” The man only smiled, serving to bare his sharp teeth at her. He laughed, actually belly laughed so hard his grip on Fundy loosened and he slipped away, but before he could get back over to his mother, the man grabbed Fundy‘s wrist, yanking him so that Fundy was pulled back. He had claws on the end of his fingers that Fundy could feel digging into his hand as he held Fundy‘s wrist to his chest. The man produced a gun from a coat pocket and held it to Fundy‘s head. How he even got a gun was beyond questioning, as Fundy‘s head swam. “This is such fun already! Why not have everyone join in the fun huh? Oh, _Wilbur!”_ He called out in a sing-song voice. Fundy looked as far as he could into the hallway that led to their backyard. He could see the fireplace and the mount where Chekhov's Gun hung. He prayed that the other man wasn’t paying close enough attention. Fundy saw his father approach the door, taking in the situation and slowly as to remain unnoticed, grabbed Chekhov's Gun off it’s mount, holding it at arm’s length pointed at the ground. He slowly exited the house, raising his other hand. 

“I know what you’re here for Schlatt. You’re jealous that I got to live like this while you got banished. I know your hubris isn’t so easily toppled, and even when it is, I know you want revenge because I have what you want. I’m sorry you can’t have this,” he said, sweeping his arms to gesture to the house and his scared wife that shivered next to him despite the 80 degree night. “I can’t help you. Now, **Let go of my kid**.” The man’s breath quickened, and Fundy could hear wheezing in the man’s, apparently named Schlatt, chest. He wheezed out a cackle before squeezing harder on to Fundy’s wrist. 

“Ya’know, Wilbur? Do you know what exile does to a man? Makes him _vindictive._ ” His hand on the gun adjusted and Fundy squeezed his eyes closed. _He was going to die_ . _He’d never been outside these stupid walls and he was going to die. Because of his father’s past. This... was_ his _fault._ Fundy thought, small blooms of hatred rapidly blossoming into a garden of resentment. The thought solidified in his mind. Fundy gritted his teeth and opened his eyes. He wasn’t going to die because of his father. The thought of his father put a sour taste on his tongue. Because of… Wilbur Soot, he had a gun to his head. 

“You might be vindictive, but what about _pre_ dictive asshole?” Fundy said, jamming his head upwards into Schlatt’s chin and running over to Sally. Schlatt stumbled back clumsily. Now that Fundy had a further away look, he could clearly see that he was clearly drunk or high or both. His eyes were crazed, and what clothes he could see were askew and on wrong. Schlatt’s limbs moved jerkily, and he couldn’t seem to stand still once unbalanced. Fundy looked down at his mother, who was shaking like a leaf in a hurricane, her eyes filled to the brim with tears that were near to slipping over. Fundy bent down and wrapped his mother in a hug, but she did not return it. She remained stiff as he released her. “Mom?” Sally stayed quiet and continued to shake slightly. “Momma?” Fundy said in a soft voice, bending down fully to look into her eyes. Finally, she moved and Fundy sighed with relief. Sally moved her hand to cup Fundy’s face. 

“Floris, is that you baby? Almost time to head to the park dear! Make sure you grab your sand toys.” she said softly, barely above a whisper. Fundy looked at her confused. She was using his deadname, but she also seemed to be completely out of it. Fundy looked into her eyes and saw no recognition of who he was. His mother’s mind had snapped, and she had gone back in the past. He moved to put his hand on top of Sally’s and hummed their song. By the end, Sally had joined in, slowly fading back into reality. She blinked away her tears, seemingly anchoring herself back to the world they were in. A few scarce tears rolled from her eyes and splashed to the grass beneath them. Fundy slowly comes back to his surroundings also, realizing that the screaming match between Wilbur and Schlatt had stopped.

“Aw how touching” Schlatt sneered. He lurched towards them and Wilbur raised Chekhov's gun at him. He paused, weakly pointing the gun back at Wilbur. Whatever he had in his system was either wearing off and making him less confident, or kicking in and making him less cognizant. Schlatt blinked hard and shook his head, righting his posture, standing up straight and angling his gun at Sally now. He reached his other hand for balance and looked at Wilbur. 

“Schlatt, please” Wilbur begged, but Schlatt shook his head. 

“No.” Schlatt retorted, moving his eyes from Sally, to Fundy , To Wilbur, in quick succession, almost trying to estimate which one’s death would cause the most damage. Wilbur seemed tired of waiting, raising Chekhov's Gun to his eye to aim it. There was a bead of silence where everyone stood still, and then the _ssswip_ of Chekhov being fired before Schlatt could pull the trigger. The arrow zipped right through his chest, making an awful thudding crunch as it did so. As it passed through though, another feature of Chekhov's gun revealed itself. When they come in contact with someone, the arrow leaches light into their veins making them glow like a lantern. As blood started to pour from the wound in Schlatt’s lungs, more of Schlatt was exposed. Fundy could see that he had dark brown scruffy hair that formed loose waves over his face, but more importantly, had two ram’s horns jutting from his head that were curling in towards his face, and, given time, would stab right into his eyes and kill him if he wasn't about to die right now. He staggered around, before falling to his knees. He was quickly losing blood, and unless he got help, he was going to die. Fundy watched as he fell again, now lying completely on his stomach, bleeding into their grass. Wilbur stood watching, a sneer frozen on his lips, his eyes wild with fear. Sally shivered in Fundy’s arms, staring at the dying man in their lawn. Fundy just stood. He wasn’t sure how to feel. Schlatt laughed sickly from the ground, coughing up blood into the grass as he did so. The realization hit Fundy later then Sally, as she tore herself from Fundy’s arm and raced to protect Wilbur, squeezing her arms tight around his waist in a hug as a shot rang out. 

Sally's head arched back as the bullet hit her, reaching deep into her back as her dress started to turn a dark, muddy red. Her legs gave out, and Wilbur caught her, slowly lowering them both to the ground. Schlatt laughed once more, this time coughing up more blood and devolving into a coughing fit that slowly petered out into a wheeze. Fundy turned his eyes back to his mother, kneeling at her side. She held up her hand, and he lowered his face into it. Tears seeped from both of their eyes. Wilbur leaned down to kiss Sally on the head and she smiled. With a choked voice, and through many tears Fundy started to sing.

_“You are my sunshine”_ he started, voice breaking and cracking. Sally looked at him with the most love in her eyes.

_“My Only Sunshine”_ she continued, using her thumb to wipe away Fundy’ tears.

_“You make me happy-”_

_“-when skies are grey”_ they sang together.

_“You’ll never know dear”_ Sally sang, her voice slowly becoming hushed

_“How much I love you”_ Fundy added, finishing the line for his mother. 

_“Please don’t take my sunshine away”_ The finished in unison, Fundy devolving into sobs that wracked his body as he felt his mother’s hand go cold. He hunched over her body and cried, Wilbur rubbing his back as Sally stared upwards with lightless eyes. 

Fundy felt his resolve strengthen for just a moment and he sat up, snatching Chekhov's Gun out of Wilbur’s hands as he stood. He walked over to where Schlatt lay dying, a mystery as to why he hadn’t yet. Schlatt lazily turned his head to look into Fundy’s hard brown eyes. Fundy pointed the crossbow straight at Schlatt’s head and fired, making a sickening crunch as it passed through muscle and skull and then brain. Fundy’s step faltered and he fell, unconscious, into the grass next to the corpse in their once perfect lawn. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am too much of a messy bitch to have a consistent posting schedule, and for that I am deeply sorry.  
> (3/6/21 I redid some of the opening sequence after realizing that it was too sexual sounding for the true connotation of the scene)


	3. You Make Me Happy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The clouds part and a little sunshine peeks through

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so yeahhhhhh this one has given me brain rot because niki and puffy so here ya'll go. we gott uhh another panic attack, underage drinking and overall sads so y'know.

Fundy pulled his cap closer to his eyes. The rain was pouring in sheets, which was fitting and bittersweet at the same time. Sally had loved the rain, even when it came down so hard it pelted your skin like ice. Wilbur had joked that she might have been a fish in a past life. Fundy shivered in his jacket, the rain pelting down on his fur and soaking him to the bone. He had decided not to bring an umbrella to encourage his somber mood, but the wind had tuned, and was blowing the rain sideways into his face and making him feel like something was tearing at his skin. Which, in essence, there was. Grief from the loss of his mother. It had been two years since that fateful night. Two years since it had started to rain almost everyday. Fundy’s 16th and 17th birthdays had come and gone, small affairs that made him feel nothing but apathy for giving his father a reason to drink. 

Fundy had started the walk home by now, tired of staring at the small headstone in a lonely graveyard that read; “Sally, Loving mother and wife”, with a small etching of a fish symbol below it. The sky was dense and packed with dark grey clouds that smudged the skyline with dreariness and hatred. As he approached their small house, he took a long look at the drab wood exterior, small dead rose bushes that clung to the house that Wilbur didn’t have the courage to get rid of, as they reminded him of Sally. Fundy stared into the rose bushes, narrowing his eyes at the things. He took a step towards them, putting one foot on the gardener’s soil and reaching his bare hands into the rose bush and pulling with all his might. He could feel the thorns digging into his hands and tearing at the skin underneath the dense fur. He uprooted the thing and tossed it into the street, moving over to the other side of the house and doing the same thing again. As he looked on at the dead and gnarled rose bushes that neither he nor his father ever cared to trim or maintain, he watched on as they also got drenched in the downpour. He could feel the wind bite at the now bleeding wounds in his hands and he opened the door and stepped inside.

The sound of the slamming door echoed through the quiet house, and Fundy winced at how loud it was. He stepped forward, accidentally kicking an empty bottle of vodka that lay on the floor, carelessly discarded from one of Wilbur’s fits of drunken wandering. He rarely ever left the house, and when he did it was off to the shop to buy more alcohol. Namely vodka and wine. On a few rare occasions, Fundy had seen pills on Wilbur’s bedside table, nothing serious, just sleeping pills, only worrying when they were usually accompanied by the sight of a wine glass that chased close behind those pills. 

Fundy gingerly walked into the bathroom, being careful to avoid any more bottles that lied in his path. He opened the closet and rummaged around for bandages that he could use to cover his bloody hand. He dug out a roll of cotton bandages and some antiseptic, moving it all over to the counter. He held his hand above the sink and poured the antiseptic on it, wincing at the slight burn that resulted from the chemical cleaning the wound in his hand. He grit his teeth and set the bottle back down on the counter. He wrapped the bandages tight around his hands, making sure that he could still use them as he did so. He collected up the bottles and put them back into the closet, sighing as he put his hands on his hips. He resolved himself to cleaning the house, the depressing atmosphere decidedly not helping his mood. He grabbed a trash bag from the kitchen and started picking up the empty bottles littered around the floor of their small house. Fundy noticed, as he did this, that the house had been dead quiet since he’d arrived. He peeked into Wilbur’s room and saw nothing. Fundy wondered if Wilbur was out to a shop for more alcohol, or had simply gotten drunk and stumbled out of the door. Fundy decided that he didn’t care. If he came home, well that was for Wilbur to care about. 

In total, there was ¾ a bottle of vodka distributed in different places that Wilbur had apparently forgotten about. Fundy looked at it for a very long time after he finished cleaning up. He had swept, and cleaned the grimy countertops until they were sparkling, and still he stared at the bottle of vodka sitting on top of the table. It was until he realized he had been cleaning the same bowl for about five minutes, that he snapped out of his trance. He put away all the dishes and grabbed the bottle, heading for his room. It had changed considerably since he was a child. The walls were now a cream color, and there was a desk pushed to a corner covered in redstone and levers. The mobile was now resigned to a pile atop his dresser, small jets of light shooting out from the crystals when the moonbeams danced across them. Fundy glanced out the window and saw that it was clearing up, the moon starting to peek out from the clouds that were slowly dissipating in the lonely night sky. He climbed his way out of the window and laid out his coat on the soaked roof tiles before sitting down and unscrewing the lid from the bottle and taking a swig. The strong alcohol burned in his throat and he quickly swallowed, shivering as it went down. He set it down on the roof and leaned back, propping himself up on his hands to watch the moon’s slow passage across the sky, occasionally reaching down for the bottle and taking small sips from it. 

It had been almost an hour, and Wilbur still wasn’t home. Fundy didn’t care though, not really, he was just a little curious where he had gone, but the only real concern he felt was for the wind that was blowing cold air around him, and he shivered without his jacket. He laid back completely, looking up to the sky as if searching for any answers to his life’s greatest woe. It was when he was doing this that he heard someone walking in his garden. He sat up quickly, grabbing the small butterfly knife he always had in his pocket. The polished aluminum shined in the light of the full moon. He leaned over the edge and saw nothing but a girl looking up at him. She had blond highlights and was wearing a simple blouse and jeans, and was looking Fundy directly in his eyes. 

“Mind if I join you?” she said through a thick german accent. She seemed nice enough, but Fundy just kept looking at her in confusion. She waved her hand and he tentatively waved back. 

“Who are you? He said, still holding the knife in his hand. She started to climb the fire escape on the side of the house and he started to scoot away from the mysterious girl, extending the knife to arm’s length. She extended her hand for him to shake, and he didn’t move. 

“The name’s Niki, and could you please put that away? I just saw you up here and you looked like you needed company. Plus,” she looked over at the vodka bottle, still ¾ full. “I simply can’t let you drink that all by yourself.” 

Fundy kept looking at Niki as he slowly and reluctantly lowered the knife. He flipped it closed and tucked in his pants pocket. He finally took Niki’s hand, shaking it. “Fundy.” He watched as Niki picked up the bottle and unscrewed the top, flicking off the cap, landing a few inches away and skittering on the roof tiles. Fundy watched in awe as she put it to her lips and took a few gulps before wiping her mouth with her sleeve and holding out the bottle to Fundy. He grabbed it and took a small sip, wincing at the burning in his throat. Niki giggled, a small, bubbly laugh that crescendoed into gasps for air. Fundy’s face pulled into a grim line and he looked with confusion over at the strange girl on his roof. She finally caught her breath and placed a hand on her chest as if it was aching. 

“First time?”

“Yeah…” 

“What you gotta do is hold it in your mouth for a second so it burns less.” she said with a smile. Fundy wasn’t so sure, but he took another small sip anyway, this time holding it in his mouth for a second before swallowing. She was right, it did hurt less. He was shocked that this stranger had actually given him useful advice. 

They sat under those stars and talked for a while, sharing the bottle as they shared about their lives. Niki told him about her parent’s bakery, and how she wanted to follow in their footsteps one day. Fundy told her about his father, and how he very much did not want to follow in his footsteps. 

“Why? What did your father do that was so bad?” Niki asked innocently. Fundy opened his mouth to respond, but faltered. He tried to form words, but they all seemed to die on his lips. He started to sweat, and he could feel his heartbeat start to rise. 

“He- He- H-'' and then all at once the scene around him caught up, as did the booze.  _ This was such a bad idea. Why did he think this was a good idea? _ The smell of the whiskey on Schlatt’s breath, the menacing glow of his sideways pupils. The feeling of his mom’s hand going cold. He got to his feet, he had to get out of here. 

_ This isn’t real  _

_ This isn’t real _

_ I’m safe _

_ I’m safe _

He was trying to reassure himself, as he stumbled around the roof, trying to reach for something to hold on to to stabilize himself.  _ You’re just like Wilbur! _ The voice in his head was getting loud, and the world around him was starting to wobble and swirl. 

“What’s happening?” Niki said, starting to her feet. She reached out to grab Fundy by the arm, just before he tipped over the edge. Fundy immediately snapped his head around and started trying to yank his arm out of Niki’s hands. 

“No- Not again. I won’t let this happen twice. I can fix it this time.” He said. “No- N-” his pleas devolved into sobs as he sank to his knees. Niki gently sat him down, rubbing his back as he breathed hard. 

“ _ Mom”  _ was all he would say, over and over as he pulled his soaking wet knees to his chest and rocked back and forth. Niki was utterly lost on what to do as she looked at the panicking fox man that sat in front of her. 

“Okay so, I’m totally out of my depth here. If we go back to my girlfriend’s house maybe I can help?” Fundy didn’t respond, instead continuing to rock back and forth and sob words Niki didn’t understand. Niki reached under Fundy’s armpits, lifting him to his feet and walking him over to the ladder. “I’m going to go down the ladder, hold on to my waist okay?” Fundy nodded a little, grabbing tight to her waist. She clumsily got on the ladder, going down slowly, and turning around to check that Fundy was still there. When they got to the bottom, Fundy was still clung to her waist like a small child. She gently pried his arms off of her torso, and put them around her shoulder, as she put one of her hands on his waist and pulled him in so they were shoulder to shoulder. She started to walk slowly in the direction of her house, with Fundy slowly limping at her side. Finally she arrived in front of a small cottage with a mushroom garden in front. Niki mauvenered the both of them inside where she set him down at one of the chairs at the kitchen table. 

The inside of the house was blazing warm, light coming from a roaring fire in the stone fireplace. Over the fireplace was a small black cauldron, and standing over that with a wooden spoon was a relatively small woman in a rainbow hoodie. She stirred the pot once more before Niki cleared her throat. She spun around, wielding the spoon like a weapon, until she saw that it was only her girlfriend, and…. A fox man? Niki was wringing her hands as she tried to explain what had happened. 

“So I saw him on top of his roof and he looked lonely so I went up to talk to him and it turns out he had some vodka so we drank a little and I don’t know what happened.” Niki said in one long breath.

“Whoa whoa!” she said, putting the spoon down on the table. “First off, you drank with a random stranger, but secondly, why is he here now?” Niki swallowed dryly, trying to overcome the knot in her throat. She felt like she was going to burst into tears at any minute. 

“I think he’s having a panic attack and I can’t get him to snap out of it.” she finally said, she was breathing fast now too. “Puffy what do we do?” 

Puffy put her hand on Niki’s back and rubbed small circles into it. “Babe just calm down for now, take deep breaths. Can you go fetch some bowls for the soup?” Niki nodded, swallowing the knot in her throat, and headed off in the direction of the cupboards that lined the walls. Puffy moved closer to the fox man sitting in her kitchen, kneeling in front of him. 

“Can you tell me your name?” she asked tentatively. His breath was ragged, and he was subtly rocking in the chair. He was gripping into the sides of his jacket, and his fingers were clenched around the fabric. 

“F- Fundy” he stuttered out. Puffy nodded, standing and grabbing for a wool blanket laying on a nearby chair. 

“Well Fundy, I've got a blanket that should help with the cold you’re probably feeling from the rain, and Niki’s getting bowls for soup. Have you eaten today?” Fundy shook his head. Puffy clicked her tongue. “There’s your first problem, never drink on an empty stomach.” She moved behind him and draped the large blanket over his shoulders, rubbing small circles in his back. “Deep breaths.” she told him, and he took a deep breath in, and out, and in again, visibly calming down a little. 

Niki came back from the other room with three white ceramic bowls stacked in her hands. She set them on the table with a small clink and walked over to slump in another chair closer to the fire. Something had gone wrong today, and Niki wasn’t sure if it was her fault or not. Part of her assured her that Fundy was going to drink anyway so she shouldn’t blame herself. On the other side though, she had asked the question that had sent Fundy into his panic attack. She didn’t notice that Puffy had walked up next to her, so she was startled when she placed a hand on Niki’s shoulder. 

“While I don’t think drinking with a  _ stranger _ was the best idea, and this is most certainly not how I saw my night going. I’m glad you had the foresight to bring him here.” Niki wiped the tears that were brimming at her eyes and turned to look up at her girlfriend. 

“Really?”

“Yeah, you said he was on a roof right? We don’t know whether he could have hurt himself or fallen off the roof, a less honest person would have just left him there.” Niki nodded silently and hugged Puffy. Puffy kissed her cheek and patted her on the back. “How does soup sound? I think it’s fair to say that everyone here is hungry.” She clapped her hands and stood, grabbing the bowls and filling them with a ladle from the pot over the fireplace. She placed the bowl in front of Fundy who gratefully picked up the spoon and started slurping down the soup, his stomach was growling and he was feeling starved. Puffy sat with her own bowl across from Fundy, watching as he devoured his meal. 

“Thank you.” Fundy finally said, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. The soup had a rich garlic flavor, and he could see bits of roasted potato floating in it. Puffy nodded, daintily eating her own soup. 

“Tell me about yourself Fundy.” Puffy asked. “How old are you?” 

“17” Puffy shot Niki a glance, and Niki shrugged and mouthed  _ How would I know? _

“Okay. Where do you live?” Puffy continued.

“Down the street, take a right then a left.” Fundy responded. 

“How much of the alcohol did you drink?” Fundy was slightly taken aback by the question. 

“Uhm, well Niki and I shared it so about...” Fundy held up his fingers an inch and a half away from each other. “This much?” 

“Hmm” was all Puffy said. 

“Why don’t I feel drunk?” Fundy asked, deciding it was his turn to ask an awkward question, and Puffy choked on her soup. She swallowed and cleared her throat. 

“Well, when you have a panic attack, your heart pumps faster, and so that kicks the rest of your system into high gear. So, much of the alcohol in your system got processed. You may still feel a slight buzz, and you will still have a hangover, but the reason you don’t feel as drunk as you should right now is because that panic attack made your metabolism process the alcohol.” Puffy finished, taking another sip of her soup. 

“Oh.” Fundy said. “Well thanks for the soup, but I really should get going.” he said, starting to his feet. 

“Oh no you don’t.” Puffy said, getting up from her own seat and pushing Fundy back down into his chair. “You’re probably going to have a killer hangover in the morning, so you’re sleeping here for the night. You’re not dealing with that shit for the first time by yourself” She reached down and grabbed his now empty bowl. Carrying both hers and Fundy’s into the kitchen to wash. She set them into the sink with a small  _ clink _ , and hunched over the sink, scrubbing at the bowls. 

“I’m sorry” Puffy startled as Niki walked into the kitchen behind her, carrying her own bowl setting hers in the sink as well. Puffy turned and gave her girlfriend a quick kiss on the forehead. 

“No, no, It’s okay, I’m just- I’m glad you were there to prevent him from going off a roof, but, you drank with a random stranger Niki! You could have hurt yourself, or worse, been hurt by him if he was the wrong type of character. You need to be more careful Niki.” Niki nodded, putting her head against Puffy’s for a moment before walking back towards the threshold of the door. Puffy sighed, she could never stay mad at Niki for too long. “Can you show our guest to the guest bedroom? She asked. Niki nodded before retreating back to the dining room. 

Fundy was still sitting in the dining room, leaning over the table with his head on his crossed arms. Niki tapped his shoulder, whereupon he turned his head to look at her before groggily rising from the table and walking with Niki to a guest bedroom.

There was a twin bed with teal blue sheets, a closet, a nightstand with a lamp, and a vanity.

“You can stay in here!” Niki said with a smile, her genuine happiness seeming to light up the room around them. Fundy nodded and thanked her as she shut the door. He strode over to the bed and sat, the mattress beckoned him as his eyelids started to feel heavy. He took off his jacket and folded it neatly on the nightstand before kicking off his shoes and digging under the covers. As he fell into unconsciousness under bright teal sheets, he tried to remember the last time he had seen someone genuinely smile. 


	4. When Skies are Grey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Forecast: Dark clouds with a silver lining

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you would probably believe it if I said I have no idea what I'm doing.

Fundy’s eyes shot open and immediately closed again. It felt like there was an arrow stuck behind his eyes into his brain and he groaned. Putting his arm over his face, he rolled onto his side and moved his arm to peek at the nightstand. On the surface, next to his folded jacket from the night before, he saw a glass of water and two white pills as well as a note that read; 

“Good Morning! Here is some pain killers for the headache you must be feeling as well as some water -Puffy”

Fundy took the pills in his hand, and propping himself on his elbow, grabbed the glass and swallowed them. Draining the glass, he felt better, if only a little. He reluctantly got out of bed and gazed around the room he was in. The pale pink walls contrasted nicely with the blue bed, and the white window frames. The beams of light coming from the windows felt like they were going to blind him, so he turned back towards the bed to collect his clothes, shielding his eyes as best he could from the blinding light coming through the window. 

Leaning over to pick up his jacket, he noticed a full length mirror next to the closet door. He stopped and stood up, taking a moment to look at himself in the mirror. It had been a while since he had seen himself below the chest, and for good reason. A tidal wave of dysphoria overcame him before he could stop it, at the realization that no matter what he did, he would have round hips. He quickly averted his eyes from the mirror, sliding on his shoes and grabbing his jacket, slipping his arms in the sleeves and trying to conceal his hips by covering them with the jacket. A thought suddenly came to him, and he slid his thumb under his collar to peer at his chest and realized he had slept with his binder on. He swore, removing his hand from his collar and hooking both under the elastic of the binder, taking in a deep breath before letting it snap back against his chest with a  **_THWAP_ ** . He sighed, deciding that when he got home he would wash it. 

Clearing his thoughts, Fundy stepped over to the door, turning the knob and opened it with a small creek. He could smell food wafting from the kitchen, Puffy must have made breakfast already, prompting Fundy to casually wonder at the time. Then, gently, as if on eggshells, he creeped down the hall into the kitchen, where he heard hushed chatter. He peeked around the doorframe into the dining room where Puffy and Niki were sat at the table, leaning over each other and laughing quietly at something one of them had said. They looked so peaceful, they looked so  _ in love _ . They looked like what Sally and Wilbur used to look like, before the incident. They used to all sit at the table and play games and talk after dinner, or on late nights, Fundy remembered it being such a happy time, but as he thought about it, as hard as he tried, he couldn't see Wilbur's face as anything other than hard and set. Even now, though only two years had passed, Sally's face looked blurred at the edges. The shape of her eyes was shifting, and the details that made up Sally, Fundy's own mother, were blurry in his mind. Fundy hated that he couldn't remember what his mother's hair looked like when the late afternoon sun hit just right, or that he barely remembered what the feeling of his fingers in hers was like. 

Niki spotted Fundy in the corner of her eye and beckoned for him to come sit. He moved to the table, almost gliding as if in a trance. He sat, before him was a plate of toast and eggs, still warm and not too hot. 

"I was worried you were gonna miss breakfast!" Puffy said with a bright smile. "Most days this miss don't get out of bed until noon" she giggled, poking Niki in the arm. Niki swatted at her finger.

"Hey! You're making me look bad!" Niki said, but she really didn't mean it. Puffy smiled and stuck her tongue out, Niki fake punched Puffy's arm, both falling into fits of laughter. Fundy smiled along with them, poking at his eggs with his fork before putting some in his mouth. They were good, better than the cold cereal he was used to eating in the morning. When he wasn't drunk, Wilbur would make banana pancakes, but those had become few and far between. He swallowed more eggs, and picked up his toast, taking a bite. 

"I hate to interrupt," Fundy started, giving the women a moment to collect themselves before speaking again. "But I wanted to thank you for letting me stay." 

"Oh it's no problem!" Puffy said with a smile, rising from the table with the dishes in her hands. "You're probably the first guest we've had in a while." Niki nods to this.

"I think the last guest we had was those squirrels in the attic" Niki said, cracking a huge grin. All three laughed at this, Fundy included.  _ Gosh it felt so good to laugh. _ Having finished his breakfast, Fundy rose from the table, and not sure what to do with his plate, he awkwardly handed it to Puffy, who grabbed it and walked into the kitchen, presumably to clean them. He half-shuffled to the door, reluctant to leave. Shoving his hands into his jacket pockets, he looked over the house once more, taking in as much serenity and wholeness that he could carry home with him. Everything their house was was everything his house _ wasn't _ , and he didn't want to go back to the dead quiet of his house where there was a poor impression of the man that used to be his father. 

"We should talk again soon." He said, finally cracking the door open and moving one foot to stand at the threshold. He just had to do it, if he left it would be over with. 

"Definitely." Niki said, also standing and walking over to Fundy. He extended his hand for her to shake, and she looked at it for a moment before pulling him into a tight hug. Shocked, Fundy just stood there. "Puffy's a licensed therapist," Niki said, whispering into Fundy's ear, before letting go of him. "I'm sorry, that was too far." She said, wringing her hands. 

"No, no, it's- it's fine" Fundy stammered. "I really should go." He said after an awkward pause. 

"Oh, yeah. Goodbye then." Niki said.

"See you again soon!" Puffy called from the kitchen. 

Now that he was outside, he took a deep breath of the damp air. It was foggy, and he could hardly see five feet in front of him. He took a bracing step into the mist, trying to remember what direction was which as he stumbled through the haze. Eventually, though, he made his way back home and opened the front door. He walked inside and paused, the house was fittingly dead quiet. 

“DAD?” Fundy shouted to no response.  _ Maybe he’s too drunk to hear me.  _ Fundy thought, deciding to go check the bedroom. He opened the door to the dark room, the blackout curtains drawn. Still, with the crack of light that fought through the curtains, he could see a figure lying on the bed. He walked quietly into the room and over to the window. He checked the dinky alarm clock on the nightstand, blocky red numbers proclaiming that it was 10 am. Fundy sighed and threw open the curtains, gazing out into the dense fog. 

“C’mon, I know I was out, but you at least have to-” Fundy stopped in his tracks as he turned. Wilbur lay on the bed, fully clothed and on his side, drenched in blood. Fundy gasped. He rushed over to his father, kneeling beside him and checking for a pulse to no avail. He closely examined Wilbur’s face. He seemed to be smiling, his face smeared in blood and a few teeth missing, but still he was smiling like Fundy had not seen for a long time. His eyes were glassy, but he looked to be the happiest Fundy had seen him since Sally had died, still, Fundy could see tear tracks down his face from where the blood had been washed away. His clothes were torn and one arm hung over the side of the bed, trails of dirt mixed with blood dripping off his fingers and on to the floor, and laying on the floor beside the blood, was Chekhov. Fundy gasped once more and stepped away from it. Looking at the bed, he could see a stain of blood spread from his father’s form on the bed sheets. Chewing on his lip indecisively, Fundy contemplated his options before moving back over to the bed and stripping his father of his jacket and shirt, rolling him onto his back. There were wounds and scratches all over his body, huge claw marks down his chest and back, obviously whoever he was fighting had gotten a few good hits in his face, knocking out the teeth. Fundy looked over his father’s pale frame again, seeming to spot new injuries each time he did so. He moved to the top of the bed and hovered his hand over Wilbur’s head before snatching the beanie that his father seldom took off, revealing unruly dark brown hair that curled and twisted into knots. Looking closer however, he could see a spot where the hair seemed to be oddly wet, and on further examination, determined it to be blood stemming from a bullet hole in Wilbur's head. Fundy rapidly backed up, putting a hand to his mouth and accidentally colliding with the wall, making a dull  **_THUD_ ** noise, and sinking to the floor. There was only one person he knew would have a gun, and he was supposed to be dead. But, come to think of it, he couldn’t remember what they had done with the body, it had just kind of…. disappeared. Was that possible? That Schlatt was somehow alive again? There was no way, when someone died, they stayed dead, just like his mom. He could vividly remember carrying her casket into the graveyard before lowering it into the ground and watching the gravediggers cover it over. There was no forgetting that. With a stark realization, Fundy noticed that he was still clung onto the beanie. He quickly dropped it, noticing a sizable splotch of blood on his own hand now. He blanched, the realness of his situation hitting him.  _ I’m an orphan. _ He thought. Where would he go? Could he live here on his own? What would people think if both of his parents had died violent deaths? Could he even make it on his own? Many thoughts raced through his mind, and he decided that before he did anything else, he should wash his face, and definitely his hands. He stood from his place on the floor and walked shakily out of the bedroom and into the bathroom. He turned the handle with a squeal from the rusty knobs and out came cold water into his hands. He let the water pour over his hands, watching as it went from clear to red and back to clear, gathering some in his hands and leaning over to splash his face with the cold water. He shook his face, casting tiny droplets of water into the sink. He straightened, catching his reflection in the mirror. His orange fur was damp, and his dark brown eyes glinted in the halogen light. He cleared his throat, prepared to go deal with the mess, grabbing a set of clean sheets and a mop from the bathroom closet before striding back into the bedroom. As he crossed the threshold however, something was different. His father’s body was missing from the bed, Chekov still lay on the floor, and all the blood was still there, but there was no body. The mop fell from his hand with a sharp  **_CLANG_ ** , as it hit the wood floor. He stood there, wide-eyed at the scene before him. Then he heard a voice from behind him, sounding awfully familiar. 

“Oh, new sheets, good idea kiddo.” Fundy spun, his hand grabbing for his knife, but as he spun the man behind him caught his wrist. “Careful now, I’ve been banged up enough today.” the voice said humorously. 

“Dad?” Fundy said in awe.

“The one and only.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EEK!


End file.
